


The Cruelest Fate

by theoddling



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, I'm genuinely sorry, OT3, Post-Canon, seriously so much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoddling/pseuds/theoddling
Summary: He knows he’s going to die for the team. That’s his job, to take the hits so they don’t have to. You can only fight for so long before it catches up with you. Death doesn't faze Eliot Spencer. Failure though, failure kills.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Kudos: 22





	The Cruelest Fate

**Author's Note:**

> My god what have I done?
> 
> (I've had this sitting in my draft documents since December, when I wrote it in a fever haze while avoiding my Health Law final, but I think it's time for it to see the light of day.

He grunted in pain, dropping to the ground from the impact of a metal pipe to his solar plexus. He struggled to stand from his prone position, lungs screaming as his muscles continued to spasm and his nerves fired rapidly and prevented him from drawing in a breath. He had just about pushed himself to his hands and knees when a pair of scruffy brown boots appeared in his fuzzy vision.  


“I would stay right where you are, Mr. Spencer,” the voice of the shoes’ owner was low and smooth and infuriatingly smug. Eliot could practically picture a pointy black goatee, or maybe he had been watching too many of Hardison’s cheesy spy movies. “Unless of course, you’d like to see something tragic happen to that pretty little blonde or your precious keyboard monkey.”  


Eliot’s nostrils flared as he was finally able to take in air. Wrong move, threatening his team. He lunged, wrapping his arms around the enemy’s shins and knocking him to the ground. This man, he realized just a second too late, was not the same man who had been swinging the pipe around like the next Babe Ruth. This man, it turned out as pain bloomed in his shoulder, had a gun.  


But Eliot was no stranger to being shot. He could tell it was just a graze, and he knew how to compartmentalize, how to ignore pain until the job was done, until he knew the others were safe. They should be safe, he told himself, they were nowhere near the warehouse. And yet, the voice in the back of his head wouldn’t cease its frantic whispers that he had to get to them _now, now, now._  


Before he even realized what was happening, Eliot had beaten the gunman bloody and his initial attacker had fled.  


_Or been sent after Parker and Hardison,_ the voice in his mind was almost taunting.  


The edges of his vision were starting to tunnel. He pressed a hand to the wound, clenching his teeth in pain and sucking in a breath. He stumbled toward the open loading dock door. He realized that the comms had been silent, too silent, for too long.  


“Parker, Hardison,” he growled. “You two done screwing around? It’s time to go.”  


He was met with silence. They never failed to answer unless something was wrong.  


_It’s fine. They’re probably staying quiet to not tip off security if they’re still in the offices,_ he tried to reason with himself.  


An odd feeling bubbled up in his chest.  


“Oh sure, just ignore me. It’s not like I’ve been getting the shit kicked out of me to keep them from focusing on you or anything,” he tried to muster his usual disgruntled grumble, but his voice cracked and his tone felt too forced.  


He leaned briefly against the doorframe to catch his breath and scanned the parking lot. Lucille was gone. That wasn’t right. He was meant to be the getaway driver, and Hardison would never have let Parker leave him behind, even when they really should.  


_Easier to make a person, or several, disappear if their car’s not sitting in the lot._  


A glint in one of the windows of the top floor of the office building on the other side of the lot caught his attention. He stared at it for a minute, noticing a pattern. Was he going mad or was it…  


_SOS, now who could that be?_ His own mind mocked. It’s not like Hardison insisted on you all learning multiple different signaling methods ‘just in case.’  


Eliot’s throat grew tighter.  


_Run. If you run, you might get to them in time._  


His head swam. He pushed onward, crossing the asphalt at top speed.  


_Don’t stop until you can see their faces._  


He stumbled through the lobby door, leaving a smear of red across the revolving glass.  


_If they’re not in your arms where you can protect them, you’re going to lose them._  


His hand was growing numb; the wound was getting in the way. It would just take thirty seconds to tourniquet it and stop the bleeding from getting worse, he reasoned, and that would help him move quicker in the long run. He paused, leaning against the rail of the south stairwell and stripped out of his over-shirt, carefully peeling it away from the bullet hole.  


_You’re taking too long._  


His mind screamed and his hand, normally so sure and steady, trembled as he tied a knot as tight as possible. Without hesitation he began running again, taking the stairs two at a time to get to the right floor.  


There was a muffled bang from the floor above him as he neared the top. He tried to ignore it, to tell himself it was anything other than what he knew deep down it was.  


_One down. Do you really think you can save the other?_ The back of his mind sneered.  


He channeled the adrenaline from his fear, his outright terror, into an extra burst of speed. He rushed into the hall. He tried to count the doors to the right room but he couldn’t focus. Was it eight windows in from the corner or nine? He tried to recall the blueprints; did each room have only one window or two?  


He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He was drowning, he was sure of it. It didn’t matter that he was in the middle of a DC office building and not the ocean.  


He forced himself to stop, to take a deep breath, to focus. Getting emotional didn’t help; it was just going to make him sloppy. _And sloppy gets people killed._  


The silence seemed to ring in his ears.  


There, just on the edge of hearing, footsteps, muffled voices, and…was that crying?  


_Which one’s dead? Which one did you fail?_ When did his internal monologue get so vicious again? He wondered absently as he moved quietly toward the door that the faint sounds were coming from.  


When he reached the door, he moved on instinct, using the element of surprise to his advantage. Kick the door open and slam it into the guard on the other side. Push past and trap the second man in a headlock. Use that momentum to throw him into the first man when he tries to stand. The third man has a gun, need to disarm him. Grab the gun and the hand holding it, twist. Fingers go slack, the weapon drops. Pull him in, solid hit to the face, unconscious. First man is standing, again, charging from behind. Throw an elbow. Sickening crunch. Broke his nose. It’s over, all three men are down.  


**Bang.**  


_No._  


Turn. The second man has picked up the gun but is still on the ground. The muzzle is pointed at you but the arm is shaking. _He missed. It’s okay, he missed._ Kick the man in the face, head goes back, he slumps. Grip releases, shove the gun away. A shuttering breath behind you, icy chill down your back.  


The room comes slowly into focus as the adrenaline fades, now that the danger is over.  


“Eliot?” There was none of the usual cheer in the voice that whispered his name. He rushed to Parker’s side, seeing her struggling to sit up against the desk. She was hurt, but she was still moving, that could be worked with. He pressed his hand to the wound and gently guided Parker into a reclining position, intending to triage the wound so they could get to the hospital.  


“Eliot, is Alec…” the woman caught sight of something just out of Eliot’s vision and sobbed, collapsing into the hitter’s shoulder. Blood running cold, Eliot shifted, turning to find the sight that had broken the unflappable Parker. Hardison, laying on the ground beside the door, eyes staring at nothing, mouth open in a wordless cry. His own sob hitched in his throat, he was too late after all.  


He turned back to Parker, at least he could save one of them. Even if she never forgave him, at least he could make sure she’d live to hate him. He shifted his grip on her in order to better inspect the bullet hole. He hissed in frustration. It didn’t look good. The bullet was buried deep, her movement probably pushing it out of the line of entry, so whoever was removing it would have to dig. And there was so much blood. He pressed his hand harder to try and stem the flow, murmuring a soft apology when she cried out in pain.  


“Come on Parker, I need you to stand with me. We’re going to get you out of here.”  


“No,” her voice was firm, shocking. He whipped his head up to stare at her. She was looking past him, maintaining eye contact with Hardison.  
“Parker…”  


“I’m not leaving him. It’s too late anyway.” How could she sound so matter-of-fact talking about her own death?  


“That’s not true,” he lied. “Please, just let me take you to a hospital, and then I’ll come back for him, I promise.”  


“You’ve promised things before, that you didn’t keep.” Her words cut through him like the sharpest blade he’d ever encountered. She sounded apologetic. He wished she would be angry instead.  


“I…” he swallowed hard, wondering if she could hear how her words shattered him. “I know Parker, and I’m sorry. If I could go back, I would, but I can’t. So please, let me try to save you?”  


She shook her head with a sigh, hair brushing his shoulder. He shifted his kneeling stance to pick her up and walk out with her in his arms, whether she wanted him to or not. He couldn’t lose them both.  


_I won’t._ For the first time that night the voice in the back of his head and the rest of his mind were in agreement. Unfortunately, his body was not also on their side. His shoulder screamed and his grip slipped. Parker gave a short cry as he jostled her side.  


“Just, sit with me Eliot. Please. Don’t leave us here alone,” her voice was soft and breathy.  


He tried again to move her, giving up almost immediately at her pained, kitten-like mewl. He leaned against the desk next to her.  


“I won’t, Parker,” he promised, pressing his lips to the side of her forehead grimacing at how cold and sweat-glazed her skin was already getting. “I won’t leave either of you again. I’m so sorry.”  


Her head drooped to rest against his shoulder and a sigh escaped her lips. Tears trekked down his face as he closed his own eyes.  


~  


The beep of a heart monitor and the hum of a fluorescent light were the loudest sounds in the entire world, he decided. He stared up at the spotted white squares of ceiling tile, trying to focus on those sounds and not the nurse who gave him updates on his condition.  


“You’ll make a full recovery sir,” she told him, smiling brightly. “You’re incredibly lucky.”  


He huffed, not quite a bitter chuckle. _She has no idea how wrong she is._

**Author's Note:**

> This one was the most emotionally difficult to write, possibly out of everything I've ever written, even if Sophie's and Hardison's deaths are proving more logistically challenging (I probably won't write a Hardison death fic, because I can't figure out how without taking the others out too, unless I do something very similar to Nate's or maybe an AU).


End file.
